


Sicily

by TerryJune



Series: Mission Briefs [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Because Coulson Childhood, Coulson POV, Friends Looking Out For One Another, Friendship, Heros Come From Surprising Places, It's Not Always Pretty, Lola Origin Story, Philinda friendship, Plot Driven Whump, Pre-Series, Some Humor, Some angst, but some, not too much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-13 04:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19243780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerryJune/pseuds/TerryJune
Summary: As Mentioned in Episode 1x16 - “End of the Beginning”Garrett: “So I dropped down through the skylight, used up my whole mag and hit the final guy right in the chest with a flare gun.  Boy, you should have seen the look on his face when that thing went off....What? I already told you that one?”Coulson: “I was there.”“For which part?”“The whole thing.”“Really?  Damn, I must be getting old.  Either that or I drank a lot more in my 30s than I remember.”“Or both.  And you didn’t go through the skylight.”“I know, but it makes for a better story.”And Episode 1x17 - “Turn, Turn, Turn”“Did I tell you about this one time I was deep undercover? The Sicilian backup team a no-show, of course. So I dropped in through the skylight, used up my whole mag…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in 1991

Phil tightened his grip and felt her purr under his fingertips.  Sliding one hand down he kicked things up with a flick of his palm, the muscles in his arm flexing as he felt her respond.

He smiled, allowing his eyes to appreciate her beautiful curves.  He couldn’t believe he was here again, and now there was no question; she was his; 100%, undeniably _his._  

_Lola._

He pressed the clutch and brought her up to top gear for the open stretch before the base.  The greenery of Spring flew by and he breathed the fresh air, mesmerized by the rhythm and hum of the Corvette’s engine, still familiar after so long.

Phil Coulson didn’t have much.  A few trinkets he kept in the foot locker that traveled from base to base with him; mostly items that had belonged to his dad or occasional gifts.  He never had the resources to indulge in things for himself but he had been saving and hoping a long time for this.  He refused to feel any guilt at using every last penny of his hazard pay and signing bonus to get her back.

He hadn’t believed his luck when he saw the VIN listed among vehicles in the auction.  Hadn’t hesitated to put in the leave request.

She still needed a paint job, and the headlights and wheels could use replacing, but she was the same beautiful car on which he and his father had spent the better part of their last summer together.

He was feeling positively high as he approached the base, tossing a wink to the agent working the guard house as he pulled in, slowing as a familiar figure waved him down.

_Thinking of beautiful curves…_

He clenched his jaw, pushing away the subconscious thought as Melinda May stepped up alongside the passenger side. 

“A convertible, Phil?” She had an eyebrow cocked and she looked up and down the length of the car.

He shrugged, “What?  Didn’t think I was the type?”

She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, “Considering how _old_ this thing is, I suppose it’s not _too_ surprising.”

He grinned, pleased by the appreciation on her face as she walked around the car, taking in the details, fingers light stroking the hood.

Phil shifted in the driver’s seat.

He’d known Melinda for a while, had admired her strength and personality for only a minute less than he’d admired her body.  But she was a coworker and miles out of his league.  Confident in the impossibility it had been easy for him to embrace their friendship and not aspire for anything more.

Until Thailand. 

Since that disastrous op, it had been impossible forget that he knew what she felt like in his palms, how she tasted under him, looked above him.  Even though their intimacy had been an act, she had later offered a no strings attached arrangement and now hardly a day went by that he didn’t find himself at a loss for how he could have been so stupid as to turn her down.

Fresh from a workout, with her toned arms exposed under her tight top, admiring and _stroking_ his car, his _Lola_ … it was like one of his dreams come to life and he could feel his mind short circuit.

“Don’t…Don’t touch, Lola.” He covered his pained plea with a smirk and a cough, “Can’t be having you get her all smudgy with your sweat.”

“ _Smudgy_?” May raised her eyebrows. “Coulson, this thing needs like three coats of paint before you have any right to worry about smudges.”

He shrugged.  She was exasperated with him.  Exasperated he could deal with. 

“And _Lola?_ ” She narrowed her eyes, “You named your car?”

He shook his head, “Not me.” He squeezed his hands on the wheel, “My Dad named her.” He smirked, “Never really considered what Mom must have thought about that.”

"I wondered where you were all weekend." May murmured, "I didn't think you ever visited home, but now…” She gestured to the car, “It makes sense.”

“Didn’t go home.” He didn't look up.  He had never been to the apartment his mother and _Sam_ currently occupied, and after his Dad died they hadn’t lived anywhere long enough for him to consider home.

May was staring at him and he sighed, knowing he couldn’t avoid some kind of explanation.

Pulling on a casual smile he shrugged, “My Mom’s husband sold her while I was at the Academy.  She came up in an auction in Chicago on Friday. That’s where I was.”

“Your Step-Dad sold your car?” Her eyes were wide.

“ _Not_ my step-dad.” Phil corrected automatically, not caring what his tone might reveal. “And technically it wasn't my car.  My name wasn’t on the title.” He rolled his shoulders, his smile returning, genuine this time, “But it is now.”  He looked up to May, “And just you wait.  I’ve got the perfect shade of red.  A few weeks from now you’re not going to want to make fun of her.”

May was still for a moment, lower lip pressed between her teeth, looking steadily back at him before a small smile tugged briefly at the corner of her lip, “I bet she’ll be great.”

“You want to go for a ride?” He asked, not thinking.  He had spent a lot of energy since Thailand trying to get over his ridiculous crush and had carefully constructed unspoken boundaries between them, but he couldn’t fight his desire to share this with her. Not today.

She grinned, “Thought you’d never ask.” She hopped the door and dropped into the passenger seat, making a show of wriggling against the leather. “More comfortable than it looks.”

“And listen.” He turned the key and worked the accelerator, watching her face as the engine purred as smoothly as the day they tightened the last screws on the carburetor.

“Listen to _that._ ” A familiar voice coming up the sidewalk had the hair on the back of Phil’s neck stand on end. “Talk about a diamond in the rough.”

With a slow turn of his head, Phil swallowed.  The one and only Howard Stark stood on the sidewalk, hat in hand, hand on hip, looking approvingly at the Corvette.  

From the corner of his eye he saw May whip her head around and stare at him, waiting for his reaction, but Phil was frozen.

Certainly aware of the effect he was having on the young agent, Stark continued around the front of the car, “This yours?”

“Uckhes…” Phil managed shaking his head, “I mean, Yes. Sir, yes.”  He felt his shoulders straighten, “Rebuilt the engine with my dad when I was a kid.”

“Well isn’t that just nice.” Stark snorted. He lifted his chin, “Pop the hood, let’s see what you got.”

Phil punched the hood button, and sparing a wide-eyed glance to May, he clamored out of the car to join Stark.

The older man had tucked his tie into his shirt and was leaning over the block, “Nice work. Could use some basic maintenance.” He tsked.

“I know.” Phil nodded rapidly, “She hasn’t been in my care for the past few years but I plan on doing a full rehaul.”

Stark turned his head, regarding him with a raised eyebrow, “ _She?_ ”

Phil winced, but Stark laughed, “Relax, kid. I’m an engineer, we all name the machines we love.” He gestured to the idling car, “What’s hers?”

“Lola.” He answered woodenly, brain still not fully believing he was having this conversation.

“Lola, Lola, Lola…” Stark repeated. “It’ll be an appropriate moniker when you get her looking the part.” He reached in, tweaking a knob, smirking when he caught Phil’s automatic wince. “Relax fella, I used to be quite the car guy.”

“Oh I know.” Phil nodded rapidly, “I used to have an article about your presentation at the Expo in ’42. Not to mention all the mechanical advancements to our service vehicles and of course the SSR fleet…” He swallowed the continuing impulse to recite Stark’s resume to the man's face, feeling the flush rise up the back of his neck.

Stark straightened, narrowing his eyes and looking over Coulson as if seeing him for the first time.  “You…you’re one of Fury’s, right?  The history buff… Coleman?”

Phil froze.

Stark knew who he was.  Howard Stark.  _The_ Howard Stark knew who Phil Coulson was. 

Okay, maybe not enough to know his name exactly, but close enough. 

“Coulson.” May corrected for him from over his shoulder and he realized he hadn’t actually said answered the question. “Phil Coulson.” She continued. “And yes, he is a history buff which is probably why he’s a little flustered.”

Stark glanced at her and shrugged a shoulder, “I’m sure I’d be a little flustered at myself if I wasn’t me.”

Melinda huffed and Phil gave into the screaming in his brain to actually _say_ something, “Sorry, yes, Sir, I just…” He took a breath, “Really appreciate everything you’ve done….ever...”

Stark was back under the hood, no longer interested in the young people next to him, “Interesting configuration. Plenty of power but efficient.  She's got a lot of space in here.” He looked over his shoulder, “You ever consider making modifications?”

“Sir?” Phil squeaked

Stark stood back up, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his hands, “You’re a field agent, right?  If you want SHIELD to let you bring this car to wherever you end up stationed you need to outfit her as a vehicle appropriate for a field agent.” He tilted his chin, “More than just a nice paint job.”

“Whuh…what do you have in mind?” Phil questioned, torn between a desire to protect his car and the impulse to agree with whatever Stark said.

The older man smiled, eyes drifting back under the hood, “Tell you what; it’s been a while since I’ve been hands on with a project and lord knows my own son wants me nowhere _near_ his cars.”

He paused for the barest of a second, something inscrutable flashing over his face, “When you have time, bring it by the engineering garage and we can talk about making sure your car has your back almost as well as your partner here.” He tipped a chin to May.

Phil blinked then nodded, “O-Okay.  Thank you sir.”

“Don’t thank me.” Stark assured, straightening his tie, “Lola’s given me something fun to look forward to. When you’re an old man you’ll appreciate what a treat that is.”

With a hint of a smirk and tilt of his hat, he left, crossing the street and disappearing into the back seat of a black town car.

Phil knew he was staring, knew his jaw was hanging open, he simply could not manage anything else.

Howard Stark admired his car.

He’d _met_ Howard Stark.  He’d _talked_ with the man. 

Howard Stark, the man who built the machine that delivered the super soldier serum to Steve Rogers; the man who basically cofounded SHIELD with his personal resources; who had invented half of the technology they currently used in the field; who had invented more than a couple of the items in Phil's footlocker; who was friends with Peggy Carter and invented a flying car in the 40s… 

THAT Howard Stark, wanted to talk _with_ Phil about working on Lola.

May was still standing next to him, an absolutely delighted look on her face, no doubt enjoying every minute he stood there, floundering.

He didn’t care that he looked like an idiot; the 12 year old inside of him was jumping up and down, screaming in exhilaration. He turned to May, “Please tell me you saw all that.  Please tell me that was real.”

May smirked, leaning a hand on his shoulder, “I saw it Phil, you’re not dreaming; Daddy Stark wants to work on your car.”

She was giggling and before long he joined her, his shock slipping away for a moment of unadulterated glee.

“I think I handled that _super_ well.” He snickered.

May only laughed harder, “Oh yeah. Going to have to tell Fury to bump you up a few levels; best spy ever, really knows how to keep cool under pressure.”

Still laughing he dragged his hand over his face, “I was a mess, wasn’t I?”

“I swear you were a millisecond from agreeing your name was Coleman.” She leaned back, “If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d be on your way to file the paperwork changing your name instead of ever having to possibly correct the great Howard Stark.”

“Yeah…” He rubbed at his temples, “I still can’t believe he even had a guess of who I am.” He looked to her, “He _is_ kind of great you know.”

“He’s a war profiteer.” May dismissed.

Phil shrugged, “Someone needs to make the guns.” He looked around the base, “I’m just glad it’s someone who also cares; who has been alongside the people using them for 50 years.” He sobered, “People keep saying his kid is supposed to take over the family business someday.” He snorted, “ _That_ is probably not going to be a great day.”

“Yes, well.” May exhaled, her laughter subsiding, “That’s not really something you or I need to worry about.” She smirked, “Now how about that ride?”

Before he could drop the hood, “COULSON!” Blake’s aggravating voice called from across the way.

Phil felt his sigh come out more like a growl and he ignored the way May’s eyebrow popped.  She had no way of knowing how incessantly annoying Blake was.

He had been two years ahead of Phil at the Academy and made no disguise of his contempt when Phil began appearing in senior level classes.  Things had only gotten worse since graduation with Felix questioning and undermining Phil at every turn, using every day of his additional years to posture as a senior agent.  Phil wasn’t above relishing the visible chagrin on Blake’s face when they had both been promoted to Level 2 on the same day.

And now, he was interrupting his joy ride with May.  Howard Stark, he could forgive, but Phil was _not_ about to let Blake ruin his afternoon.

“Don’t have time right now, Felix.” He waived off, dropping the hood and gesturing for Melinda to get back in the car.

“You’re certainly not going anywhere fast in _this_ heap.” Blake tilted his head, not hiding his bemusement at the primer spotted car.

Phil just revved the engine.

Blake rolled his eyes, “Fury wants you.”

For half a moment Phil still considered peeling out.  Technically his leave was approved until the end of the day.  Sure, Fury would know he was on base, but he was almost certain that an afternoon drive with Melinda and Lola would be totally worth whatever minimal amount of groveling would get him out of the doghouse.

Then Blake said what might have been the only thing that would get Phil to cut the engine and get out of the car, “It’s about John Garrett.  He needs help.”


	2. Chapter 2

Fury arched an eyebrow, “You sure you’re good for this?”

“Yes, Sir.” Phil nodded, acutely aware that the plane was less than 3 hours from Italy and it was too late to back out, “Just get in and let Garrett know it’s time to get out.  If anything goes wrong, activate the tracker to call for the operation specialist. No problem, Sir.”

His boss looked him over, silently evaluating. “You know, Vaughn offered to send a specialist in from the start.” He paused, continuing after a beat when Phil’s face remained neutral, “I told him we take care of our own.”

Phil nodded in agreement.  This probably _was_ the kind of mission that should be taken on by a specialist, but he wasn’t arguing.  They had _just_ gotten Garrett back from the incident in the Balkans and Coulson knew their S.O. shared his desire to back John up.

He shifted, “Can I ask, Sir, why _was_ Garrett sent on deep cover so soon?”

“You _can_ ask.” Fury shrugged, “But I don’t have to tell.” 

Phil swallowed his instinctive eyeroll.

From day one at the Academy it had been drilled into them that classification and compartmentalization were essential to operating an effective and secure agency.  Secrets weren’t personal; they were how agents protected one another. He understood it in theory but accepting it in practice was not always easy.

Fury must have seen some of the frustration on Phil’s face because he leaned his elbows forward on the desk, “I could remind you, _again_ , that level 2 doesn’t grant you half as much information as you think you’re owed, but instead, I’m going to teach you a little something that I think you already know.”

He paused, staring long and hard at Phil, “Getting back up is important.” 

That was another universal truth of SHIELD, though one less explicitly pressed in training. It didn’t need to be; everyone knew the cadets that made it through, and the agents that succeeded, were the ones who kept on going, regardless of the hits they took.  There were support counselors and staff psychologists, but the generally accepted rule was that there was no better therapy than getting back to work, moving on, staying occupied and putting the past behind you.

It was something Phil innately understood, and it certainly made sense for Garrett.

When John had returned, he had already been cleared by medical, receiving operational clearance from top brass.  But Fury had hesitated to return him to duty right away and Garrett had been restless.  Pacing the halls, ready to challenge anyone to anything; sparring, darts, drinking…

He needed to get back in the field in order to restore his equilibrium.

Doubt still gnawed at Phil, there had been something else off about John, in his eyes. Coulson suspected that was the source of Fury’s initial hesitation too, but Garrett had been nearly blown to pieces and had rescued himself, that was bound to change a man.  Phil had faith that Fury knew what was needed and he knew what John could handle. 

But now Garrett's deep cover op had potential to go south, fast.  The risk was too high to leave him there and it was Phil’s job to get him out.

Fury’s eyes flicked, “This is dangerous for you.”

Phil shrugged, “Someone needs to do it.”

“Maybe not someone who is quite so useful in other areas.” Fury shifted, the muttered words barely audible across the desk.

Phil straightened at the rare praise. He cleared his throat, “I’m still low man on the totem pole.” He shrugged, “And you need a guy they’ll underestimate; none of Vaughn’s specialists fit that bill.”

Well, maybe one did, but Phil sure as hell wasn’t going to suggest she go in his place.

Fury nodded, “I’d still like to see you spend at least some time actually _in_ an office.  If you plan on climbing much higher around here, you should be getting experience with the whole picture and that includes the admin stuff.”

“I’m happy doing what I’m doing.” Phil frowned. 

It wasn’t the first time Fury had pushed for him to take on more organizational work.   At first Phil had feared it was because his field work had been subpar, but he and May had broken in to the personnel department a while back and his SO had nothing but praise in his mission reviews. 

Phil kept on deflecting the administrative offers, hoping someday his supervisor might offer some kind of explanation or just stop pushing.

Fury was giving him that look, like he was reading the thoughts Phil hadn’t even realized he had and he fought to remain steady.

“Alright, Rook.” He gestured to the door as an implied dismissal, “Make sure you’ve got a tac-vest fitted before we land.”

Phil nodded and left the cramped office space, descending the spiral staircase to the open sitting area where the analysts were strewn about; one was on the plane’s airphone, having what appeared to be a very impassioned conversation with someone in Italian.

He drifted through the room, picking up bits of conversation and glances at facility maps he’d already memorized before deciding the space was too crowded.  He knew he was perceived as a gregarious guy but the truth was that there were a number of his coworkers that grated on his nerves.  Considering what he was about to undertake, he needed somewhere quiet from all the buzzing where he could get centered and clear his head.

Moving to the back of the plane he wrapped his hands around the railing overlooking the cargo bay.

The matching agency Oldsmobiles were parked on the ramp and he took a deep breath, releasing everything and focusing on a mental tally of the work he wanted to complete on Lola when he got back.

Headlights, Degreaser, Oil Change, Filters, Check Head Gasket, Spark Plugs, Wheels, Paint, Finish…

“Anxious?”

He _almost_ managed to contain his instinctive jump at May’s sudden appearance. The arch of her eyebrow told him she knew she startled him and it amused her.

“Nah.” He shrugged off.  No reason to admit that his stomach was a tangle of nerves.

Next to him, May was still but he could feel her restive energy as clearly as if she were bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

He cocked an eyebrow, “Feeling cooped up?”

“Nicholson kicked me out of the cockpit.” She admitted, “Wouldn’t even let me take the stick for a minute.” 

He smirked, “How about you give me a warning next time you’re aiming to fly a plane I’m in; I’d like a chance to buckle myself in first.”

She punched his arm, “You’ve flown with me on the stick before; it was fine!”

“Fine as in everyone lived.” He conceded, “My _coffee_ did not.”

“I’m learning.” She mumbled.

He grinned, pleased at the rare victory; there wasn’t much Melinda May _wasn’t_ good at and he was certain it wouldn’t be long before he’d have absolutely no ground to stand on to make fun of her flying.

“You know, I didn’t ask for you to be the backup on this.” His elbows on the rail as he rubbed his hands together.

She frowned, “Wait, why not? Did I…”

His eyes widened, realizing how she must have interpreted his comment and he mentally kicked himself. “No, I meant that I wasn’t given the _option_.” He turned, leaning his left elbow on the rail as he faced her, “Fury asked Vaughn for the toughest, sneakiest S.O.B. he had available and you’re the name that showed up on the flight manifest.”

May tilted an eyebrow.

Phil gestured with an open palm, “I’m just saying.  No need to keep worrying about Vaughn’s respect.”

“Or he’s just hoping one of these days you’ll get me killed.” She shrugged it off.

He smirked.  Despite her words, Phil knew how much the division commander’s respect meant to May.

Her rising esteem in the operations ranks had been evident in her assignments too, there had been three times in the past five months that Coulson had requested her as his specialist on mission only to find she was already deployed and he’d have to make do with someone else.

He knew it was good for him to work with as many agents as possible and there was the added bonus of providing the distance he felt necessary as he worked on squashing his troublesome attractions.  Yet after leaning so heavily one another their first few years, it still felt odd and a little less secure to go on a big op without her. 

He suspected she felt similarly as she always found reason to find him around the base and complain about what ever field agent she had most recently been ‘babysitting’. 

He rolled his neck, feeling her eyes on him.

“Maybe I should go with you for the initial meet and greet.” She was looking at him, eyes steady and dark with concern.

A part of him wanted to agree, ask her to be at his back the whole way; but that wasn’t how this op was designed. 

“Nah.  We’ll run it as planned.” He shrugged off her concern, “If everything goes right we won’t even need you.”

“You count getting your ass beat as everything going right?” She crossed her arms.

“Hey, I told you I’ve been getting better at the hand to hand stuff.” He smirked, “One of these days maybe I’ll even take you down.”

Instead of scoffing as he anticipated, she nodded, heading for the staircase, “Ok. Let’s go.”

He swallowed, “What?”

She was already down the stairs, dragging mats across the floor of the cargo hold, “Get your ass down here and let’s see what you’ve got.”

He winced, looking at his watch.

“Nope.” She shook her head, “We still have hours before we land in Italy.  No excuses, square up.”  She smirked, “I’ll let you take off your jacket, Mr. ‘I-Go-In-The-Field-In-A-Suit’.”

Exhaling while stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders he descended the steps like a man to the gallows; “Take it easy on me?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”


	3. Chapter 3

Phil winced.  Sparring on the plane had _seemed_ like a good way to release his pent up energy prior to the mission. Despite her taunts, he knew May had taken it easy on him, but he also suspected she knew _exactly_ what she was doing when she landed a kick that left his ass bruised and smarting as he took another set of twisted stone stairs.

He’d been here for nearly 20 minutes without running into anyone and that uneasy feeling was back in his gut.  He reminded himself for the eightieth time that his superiors would not have designed the op this way if they had any other choice; they knew what they were doing and everything was going to be fine.

He bent his neck, stretching from under the tight Kevlar vest.  He didn’t like wearing it but both Fury and May had reminded him to put it on before he left the plane.  It made his arms feel odd as he held his gun in front of him and he idly considered that if this would be a common occurrence maybe he should wear one when he practiced at the range.

Raising his gun, he cut around the next corner in the seemingly abandoned vineyard tunnel.  He was acutely aware of not having anyone watching his back and he resisted the urge to press against the wall.

There weren’t clear footprints but the hazy dust on the ground had been recently disturbed, he knew he must be getting close.

There was no wind, but a loose label fluttered and he swallowed, turning in just time to see the fist coming at him. 

He ducked and tossed his gun to his left hand, freeing his right to punch his assailant hard above the kidney, using a thrust of his shoulder to make space between them before landing a jab to the man’s face.

He didn’t have the chance to strike again when a new set of hands pulled him from behind, kicking out his knees and wrapping an arm around his neck while a third man clamped on to his arm, wrestling for the pistol.

Giving up on the gun, he relaxed his fingers and freed his hand, moving it to the arm around his throat and pitching forward, vaulting the man over his head and forcing him to releasing the chokehold.

Phil straightened, moving to raise his hands but the other two men piled on at once, grabbing at his elbows and shoulders, pinning his arms back while the third picked himself off the ground, wasting no time in delivering a hard sucker punch to Phil’s stomach, just below the coverage of the vest.

The air knocked out of him, Phil bent forward but the strong arms pulled him back, leaving him exposed as the third delivered a quick succession of body blows and two sharp hits to his face.

The first slit open his cheek and left him reeling, he felt the crack of the cartilage in his nose after the second punch and he let his knees go weak as all his energy went to trying to free his hands to cover his face.

Held more limply between the two men, Phil spat out the blood that was flowing from his nose.  He smirked, recalling a line from his favorite comic book, “I could do this all day…”

The men looked at one another, rolling their eyes.  Phil barely registered the motion before he felt the butt of the gun crack across the back of his skull.

He let himself drop, not bothering to fight for consciousness, embracing the darkness as the floor rush toward him.


	4. Chapter 4

He wasn’t fortunate enough to be unconscious long.

His skull ached and his nose throbbed. At least the cool stone floor felt good against his forehead, despite his face being in a small puddle of his own blood. 

Phil remained limp, eyes closed, as the three men bound his hands behind his back and searched his pockets, finding nothing but a fake id, pocket knife and some lira.

Pulling him up by his elbows, they dragged him further into the depths of the tunnels.  When they reached a set of stairs Phil felt the slight rock before they tossed him forward and he tumbled over the stone.

He did his best to tuck his head, but it hit at least one step on the way down and by the time he sprawled at the bottom he was seriously dazed, his arm twisted painfully in the rope behind him and he gasped shallowly for breath.

The men laughed as they descended after him and there was a sharp pain in his shoulder when they grabbed his arms again, dragging him behind them.

He tried to track the distance and turns, but his brain was dizzy and the way he was being pulled made it difficult to take in a full breath. His face hung barely a foot from the floor as they moved and the dirt clung to the blood, stuffing his nostrils.

He was about ready to give up on trying to stay aware when the air changed and he was unceremoniously dropped to the floor.

Phil forced his eyes open and coughed to force air into his lungs while he tried to find a way to relieve the pain in his shoulder.  Shifting his weight to one side he was able to get a distorted view of the room.

They were still in the vineyard tunnels, stone floor meeting earthen walls covered by racks filled with dark glass bottles.  From his vantage point he could see the light from the hall they had come from and a large wooden door on the adjacent wall.

Several shoes and legs filled his vision.  He blinked away the blur, trying to get a count.

“Que?” An accented voice questioned and a shoe under Phil’s rib forced him to flip over to his back.  He winced against the light shining from the ceiling.

A cup of water was doused over his face and someone held the fake passport close, comparing the picture.  “Michael Carlock.” They read aloud. “Americano.”

“Damnit.”

Phil almost sighed in relief at the familiar voice.

“They must be after me.” Garrett muttered.

Phil let himself relax.  He was done. 

True; he was still bound and bloodied deep in an enemy stronghold, but his mission objective had been met.  The name on his fake ID was a code to Garrett; it was time to extract himself.

He didn’t need to crack his eyes open to know that the next person to pick him up by his collar was Garrett. “You guys beat the snot out of him, huh?”

Phil opened his eyes, not wanting the other man to worry too much, “I’m going to complain to my travel broker.” He tried smirking, “Vineyard tour _not_ as advertised.”

The undercover agent huffed and dropped him back to the ground.  This time Phil was prepared, and he hunched his shoulders, saving his head from cracking on the stone floor. 

He blinked, willing himself to greater awareness as Garrett paced through the group.

One of the three who had initially grabbed him stepped forward, gesturing to Phil’s head with his gun, “You want we should…?”

Garrett grimaced as if he were considering it before shaking his head, “No. We don’t want a dead American agent on the property.  That’s just asking for complications.”  He stepped closer, “This guy is my problem; I’ll deal with it.”

He glanced to a man who had been standing toward the back of the room, “Capo, let me borrow the boat. I’ll drop him overboard a couple kilometers out; if he ever washes up on shore no one will be able to know where he came from.”

Phil exhaled; glad Garrett had an escape plan that included him.

Some quiet words were exchanged in Italian but it seemed Garrett was granted permission for the boat and he bent over Phil, sneering, “Okay, _cop_ , can you walk or am I going to have to drag you?”

Two men stepped forward, hauling Phil into a standing position.  He rocked on his heels for a moment but took a deep breath.  “I can walk.” He spat blood out, making sure some landed on Garrett’s shoes.

“I am _really_ looking forward to introducing you to the bottom of the sea.” Garrett growled, shoving Phil forward.

“Uno minuto…”  The man whom Garrett had asked to borrow the boat stepped forward, standing between them and the door.

There was a look in his eyes and Phil felt his hope replaced by dark foreboding.

Garrett smiled and opened his palms, “Matteo, amico, what’s going on?”

Instead of answering, Matteo raised his arm chest height, a pistol in his hand.  He paused, head tilted, eyes fixed on Garrett before he smiled and pulled the trigger.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's what they do, SHIELD. They prey on fear and loneliness and desperation and then they offer a home to those who have no one else to turn to."   
> -Ian Quinn ep 1x3 The Asset

Phil felt the bullet before he heard the sound. 

All the air was forced from his body as he fell backward, no time or strength to do anything but collapse to the ground, struggling for breath and consciousness.  Where the vest had felt tight before, it was now restrictive, he was certain it was keeping him from breathing.

Somewhere above him Phil could vaguely register Garrett arguing with Matteo, “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“He has bullet protection; you do not… _Agent_.” Matteo turned the gun on Garrett and Phil cursed.

They were too late.  Garrett’s cover was already blown, his reaction to Phil being shot was all the confirmation the other men needed. 

He didn’t bother listening to the words as Garrett and Matteo continued to argue. He could tell from Garrett's tone that he was trying to talk his way out of it but things were getting heated and the other men in the room were closing in.

Exhaling in an attempt to make room for shallow breaths, Phil contemplated this as his end.  He didn't think he had any real regrets; He would have preferred his death to mean something, but he supposed trying to save a friend was a good of a death as a man could ask for.

He wondered what they would tell his Mom.  Accident?  Training exercise?  In the line of duty?  He last talked to her two weeks ago; to tell her he would be going to Chicago for Lola.  She hadn’t bothered to question if he’d visit but had asked about work.  He had said he was in New Jersey and things were quiet.

She would be wholly unprepared for news that he was dead.

Fury would probably be the one to tell her.  He’d be pissed; Fury didn’t seem like the guy to sit in a living room with a crying woman.

As he lay there, struggling to force oxygen into his abused chest, thinking about Fury, something else flickered in the back of Phil’s brain… _’Getting back up is important.’_

Phil groaned. Fury hadn’t meant it literally.  Even if he could convince his body to stand up, what was the point?  They were surrounded with no hope of escape.

' _Getting back up is important.’_

The voice rang through his mind again; this time more forceful, as if Fury were sitting in front of him. 

It was an order.

He blinked, focusing on the ceiling.  His head throbbed and his nose hurt. There was a good chance his shoulder was dislocated and his chest burned.  Now the initial shock had dulled, he didn’t think the bullet had gone through the vest but the impact of it had possibly broken some ribs. 

He mentally went through the pain, folding each one away and setting it aside so he could focus.

Get up. 

That’s all he had to do.  Get up.

Well, get up _and_ avoid getting shot... _And_ head to that door.

But Matteo was in the way.  With a gun that he clearly was willing to use.

As his head started to clear, Phil pulled on his training; when you have nothing, make do with what you have. 

What did he have?

He craned his neck to look around the room.  Everyone was braced, watching Garrett and Matteo argue.

_N_ o _one_ was paying attention to him.  That was something he could work with.

Phil took the most stabilizing breath he could and slid forward along the floor. 

Still no one noticed. 

He pushed himself another foot forward, looking back, finding eye contact with Garrett.  He gave a single dip of his chin.

Another push forward and Phil was close enough; he kicked up and back, feeling the crack of Matteo’s knee. 

The Sicilian lurched forward and Garret grabbed the gun, wrapping the man in a headlock and pushing the gun to the top of his head, looking back at everyone else in the room. “Don’t move or I’ll blow his brains out!”

Phil dragged himself to the wall, using his good shoulder against the wooden shelves to pull himself standing and open the heavy wooden door.

Garrett dropped Matteo and fired over the heads of the others before grabbing Phil and pulling him roughly into the tunnel, slamming the door shut and wiring it closed.

“Jesus man, I thought you’d never get up.” Garrett huffed.

“You’re…welcome…”, Phil barely breathed from where Garrett had tossed him.

“Aw buddy…Come on.” Finished securing the door, Garrett bent over, untying Phil’s hands and pulling one arm over his shoulder, helping him up. “Let’s go.”

* * *

By the time Garrett had dragged him out of the cellar and dumped him on the deck of a mid-sized motor boat, Phil was feeling clearer.  His nose was definitely broken and something was still wrong with his arm and his chest ached with a flaring pain but it was getting easier to breathe.

He allowed himself to lie still on the deck, taking small, even breaths of the fresh air while John pushed them from the dock and navigated out in to the Mediterranean.

He knew he had drifted off, unsure of how much time had passed when rough hands woke him.

“Okay buddy, let’s see how you’re doing.”

“’m fine.” Phil tried swatting him away, but Garrett had already ripped at the velcro, releasing the tactical vest.

He had to remind himself not to gulp for air as it felt like a weight had been released, the constricting pressure gone.  He didn't feel Garrett's fingers pulling on his shirt until the wind hit his bare skin and Phil shivered while Garrett prodded at his chest and side.

“You’re lucky he was using a revolver.” Garrett muttered, “From that range a semi-auto would have gone through the vest; left you with more than that bruise.”

Phil bent his head, trying to get a look at the deep red circle on his chest already turning to a ghastly black and blue.  “Yep…Lucky.” He coughed, wincing at the pain it brought and letting his head fall back.

“Alright, c’mon now, Kid.” Garrett pulled at him, propping him close to a sitting position against the bench behind the wheel, “This is the part where you tell me what you know.”

Taking another slow breath to shove the sharp pains into dull throbs, Phil forced his eyes to remain open.  “No details.  Local back up pulled out but not before dropping a line to HQ that your cover was at risk.”  He shifted, trying to push himself straighter, “I was sent in to let you know.”

“By yourself?” Garrett sat back on his heels.

Phil shook his head, “Beacon in my shoe will call May to our location.”

Garrett snorted, “Okay, so you and one rookie specialist.”

“Despite what Fury says, neither of us are really rookies anymore.” Phil defended, “Melinda could put you on your ass.”

Garrett shook his head, “Damn Phil, I don’t know who you’ve got it harder for, Captain America or Melinda May.”

“Lay off.” Phil huffed, “You’re just jealous I have an agent who’s willing to work with me more than once.”

Garrett grinned at the tease, “If I’m so bad, what the hell are you doing here?”

“We take care of our own.” Phil tried to shrug, forgetting his abused shoulder and he couldn't hold back a hiss of pain.

“Stupid ass Fury.” Garrett muttered, moving closer, ignoring Phil’s protestations as he stripped the younger man’s tie, looping it into a make-shift sling.  His hands were gentle even as his words were not, “Couldn’t think of something better than sending his golden boy to have his ass whupped?”

“Don’t call me that.” Phil mumbled.  The sling released the pressure from his shoulder, making it marginally better and he tried to refocus; clarify the aggression he thought he was hearing from Garrett. 

“What? Golden Boy?” John huffed, “Doesn’t really matter, I guess if he still is willing to send you off on suicide missions.  To SHIELD we’re all pawns.”

Phil leaned his head back.  While he'd like to think this was just Garrett's reaction to seeing a friend hurt, it felt like something more than that.  Garrett was saying aloud that which was never spoken. There were missions where no one expected an agent to make it back.  They were tough calls deemed necessary.  In those cases it was usually lower level, young agents sent out on the wire; The information held by older agents was too dangerous to risk.

“We all play chess.” Phil waited until Garrett’s eyes were on him, “Pawns are a necessary part of the game.”  He knew it and knew the other tactician knew it too.

“How is that alright with you?  To just be thrown away?” Garrett was gesturing broadly, “I heard about Thailand; Fury blew up a building with you and May inside.  He was willing to let you die so he could cross off a target.”  Garrett ran his hands through his hair.

“He knew we were on the roof, nowhere near the explosion.” Phil frowned, purposefully leaving out the fact that their escape was still a close call which left May seriously injured. 

He breathed, trying to talk Garrett down, “The folks in charge aren’t throwing anyone away.  They’re making tough calls and the system has worked so far.  If it ends up one of us gets hurt or killed, I have to have faith that it won’t be in vain; our loss will bring some good or protection to someone else.”

Garrett tilted his head, “Jesus, brother. Are you regurgitating a brochure or what?”  He leaned back against the hull, one hand absently tapping on his side. “Don’t you want something for yourself?  Just once?”

Phil’s eyes watched the other man’s fingers.  He knew Garrett had been nearly killed by that IED blast in Sarajevo and he assumed the movement was an unconscious tic over the resulting scar.  Perhaps that is where his attitude was coming from. Phil wondered if maybe Fury was wrong, throwing himself back into the field wasn’t actually the best thing for Garrett. 

“This _is_ what I want.” He tried answering levelly, “To be a field agent.  Someday maybe I’ll be asked to contribute in some other way but right now I just want to be out here. Doing this.  Making a difference, not sitting behind a desk cutting through red tape.”

Garrett exhaled, “Nice sentiment.  But a guy like you shouldn’t be here.”

Phil felt his jaw tense and his neck tighten, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a nerd Coulson.” Garrett brushed off, “One of the good guys who should be protected, not doing the protecting.” His eyes unfocused, looking past Phil and over the water to the horizon, “A guy like you, with brains and heart should be somewhere secure, like the Hub, or the new HQ in DC.  Working a safe little 9 to 5.  You’re the kind of guy who should be one of those agents who actually gets to have a life; a house with a cute little wife, be a dad to a couple of rugrats….”

“You shouldn’t make assumptions about who I am or what I want.” Phil ground out. 

Ever since his last year at the Academy when he formally applied for a field position, people had been trying to tell him what he should want.  Always pushing that desk analysts had opportunity for maintaining some idyllic life outside of SHIELD, as if it were naturally a goal he would have.  Fury was only one who seemed to accept, without question, that Coulson harbored no such day dreams. 

Garrett’s eyes narrowed, “Isn’t that the dream; to be able to balance SHIELD with a ‘normal’ life?”

“What’s normal?” Phil shrugged, “And why would I want to devote anything less than everything to the life I’ve got?”

“You honestly telling me you don’t want a family?” Garrett’s eyebrows rose.

Phil grimaced. He was tired. He hadn’t slept much since Fury had asked him to help extract Garrett.  And he hurt. There was only so much breathing could do to quell pain and the constant rocking of the boat wasn’t helping.  

In the past he had mostly been successful at keeping his motivations private but John seemed to be searching for something; maybe it was a kindred spirit, maybe it was to absolve him of guilt…Phil didn’t know.  All he knew was that he didn’t have the energy or desire to keep up a perky front.

He narrowed his eyes, “Let me ask you this; everyone says parents love their kids more than anything, life itself, right?”

John nodded, “Yeah.”

“But you also can’t protect them from everything.  Accidents, natural disaster, disease…” Phil gestured with his free hand, “So then what’s left?  Having a spouse you adore and bringing a child into this world and loving them beyond all articulation but being absolutely unable to protect either of them.”

He shrugged, “Who wants that kind of pain?”

John stared at him for a long time, face neutral save for the tensing around his eyes.  When he broke the silence his voice was quiet and rough, “Your Dad died when you were a kid, right?”

Phil sighed, he didn’t need John’s amateur psychology but part of him just wanted someone to know; to  _understand_.  “Nine.” He admitted.

He stopped for a minute, trying to recall those early days.  Less than two decades later it was all a bit hazy.  A cramped, moldy funeral home with lots of people he didn’t know telling him to be strong and that he was the ‘man of the house.’  Not that they had stayed in the house long.

“You took it hard?” John pressed.

"It _was_ hard." Phil corrected. “Mom couldn't find work.” He closed his eyes, remembering the tears when she didn’t think he was watching, the seemingly endless days helping her deliver resumes to office buildings and counting down until he’d turn 12 and could be hired by the local grocer.  “We both did what we could to get by.  For her that also included bringing home men who promised to help and be the all-important male role model in the home.”  

“Not all great guys?” John was uncharacteristically solemn, and Phil clenched his teeth. 

He sighed, “My mom is a _great_ woman.  She wants to do right by me and she always sees the best in people.” He looked down, recalling the hopeful look on his mother’s face each time she introduced him to some new guy.  “But she never learned that good guys don’t want anything to do with a broke woman supporting a teenager.”

He didn’t see it as a coincidence that Sam was the one who had stuck around the longest and that he had arrived on the scene after Phil had already left for college.  At least Sam was just an asshole who was bad with money.  Unlike Darren with his jealousy issues or Ian’s mind games or the god-awful Rick with his anger and thick leather belt.

At the academy and in field evaluations Phil often received high marks for ‘remaining level headed’; what no one seemed to realize was that nothing they had to throw at him was scary in comparison to going home every day and fearing someone your own mother had invited to stay. 

He stared back to Garrett who had remained silent, “So no. Family life just isn't my thing.  I'd much rather be out here in the field with you.  Maybe it will cost me my life but at least I'm doing something productive with my time with good people trying to do the right thing for those who can't protect themselves."

Garrett snorted, nodding once, “Maybe.”

Phil let his head roll back again, taking in the clear afternoon sky.  He could feel Garrett's eyes on him but he had nothing else to add to the conversation.  He tilted his head up, “You got a beach where we can land this thing and call in for extract?”

“Can’t yet.” John pushed himself back up, grabbing the wheel and checking the navigation, “We need to go back.”

“We need to…?” Phil sighed closing his eyes, “Why?”

“Left something there.” He looked down to Phil, “And before you ask, Mr. Loyal SHIELD Agent, It’s classified, Level 4.”

Phil snorted. In truth he kind of minded.  He was lucky to have survived the first time and if he was going back in it would be nice to know _why._ But in the end it didn’t matter.  This was how things were run and if there was a mission, he would finish the job.

“Can we at least call May in to back you up?” He gave a pointed look to his bound shoulder, “And maybe have her bring an aspirin…” he muttered, closing his eyes as John chuckled.

“Whatever you say, Tough Guy…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was hard to write "in character" but is a meaty part of my head canon.   
> I wanted to show Garrett's continued frustration at SHIELD, fueling his personal justification for joining Hydra.
> 
> At the same time I wanted to lay the foundation for Phil's more ruthless aspects and his fanatical dedication to SHIELD.   
> I was struck by 1x18 and 5x12 when he desperately defends SHIELD as a symbol. In my thoughts, he's devoted to SHIELD because for the first time after his father died, SHIELD gave him something safe and reliable and told him had value. And that helps explain how he easily connected with Skye/Daisy. He wasn't orphaned, but he understood feeling lost and needing people and a mission.   
> In 1x11 he talks with Mike Peterson about how being an agent means choosing not to have "the other life" one with PTA meetings and families. Which means that at some point Coulson made the choice that wasn't something he wanted; I figured it was because his experience with family wasn't great.
> 
> Of course, keep in mind this mission, Coulson is still young. What a man thinks he wants or doesn't want when he is in his mid 20s is going to be something different than what he wants when he's in his mid 50s. By the time we see him on the show he takes advantage of outlets for his paternal instincts and familial bonding; but that is something that has developed with age.
> 
> We also see that there are more than a few times when Coulson is surprising cold and ruthless. It's possible for children with abusive backgrounds to grow up as peaceful and well adjusted adults, but it's also not surprising for them to be skilled at detaching and compartmentalizing things. It also fits with feeling passionately but having difficulty expressing it in words and valuing his own life less than the others around him.
> 
> I know "not good family history" Coulson is not one often seen so I wanted to take a moment to explain my thinking in hopes that readers can at least understand my intention in making this a part of this character's back story. THANK YOU!!!


	6. Chapter 6

“This is a dumb plan.” Melinda muttered not for the first time since she had met them on the beach a half mile from the vineyard. “And _you_ ” she prodded Phil, “Really should have stayed on that boat.”

“I get sea sick.” He smirked, gripping his gun in his left hand, his right still braced by his tie.

“Not an ounce of self-preservation between the two of you.” She ground out, stepping ahead, clearing the next corner.

“And yet here you are, right alongside us.” Garrett grinned.

Her glare softened a fraction, “I was getting bored sitting around that plane with all those _analysts_.” She glanced back to Phil, “Didn’t realize I was joining a suicide pact by responding to the beacon.”

“It’s not suicide.” Garrett assured. “We go in from the top; there is an accessible window to the main hall.  I’ll go in first, you cover my six.” He gestured to Phil, “Our sharp shooting walking wounded here will cover us both from a fixed position at the skylight.  We get in, get down the hall, grab the bag, get out, take the boat to Calabria and enjoy a relaxing evening of hotel service and limoncello on SHIELD’s dime.”

Phil rolled his eyes.  Technically they should find a safe location and call in the plane right away, but John still had his undercover expense account and had been waxing poetic about this particular hotel ever since they came up with the plan.  Phil didn’t care _where_ they ended up that evening, as long as it involved a shower and a bed.

The building they needed was part of the vineyard compound and was mostly built into a side of the hill. They had found the boat’s first aid kit and he had chewed every asprin it had while Garrett had wrapped his ribs but that hadn’t left him ready for the mountainous hike.

Phil was on shaky legs, ready to be done by the time they finished they crested the hill and hopped onto the roof.

May looked at him as he stumbled, doubt and concern evident on her face, but he smirked at her and she said nothing.

Garrett pointed to the skylight, “That’s your position.” He looked to Phil, “We’re going in through the window on the side.  Wait until we clear the room then get yourself back over the hill.  We’ll meet you at the dock.”

Phil nodded, sharing a final nod of assurance with May before gingerly lowering himself to the side of the skylight as she and Garrett hopped over the side and descended the embankment.

As he shifted for a better vantage point it became clear the room below was not as sparsely populated as they had hoped.  In fact, it seemed like the whole organization was meeting; over 20 men loudly arguing and gesticulating at one another. 

It was too late to shout a warning to May and Garrett and, not for the first time, Phil cursed the lack of reliable long distance communication system.

Keeping an eye on the side window, Phil waited, taut and still.

It wasn’t long before a shadow crossed the glass only a second before it shattered from gunfire, Garrett jumping through, milking the element of surprise and standing boldly in the center of the window, spraying gun fire.

Phil didn’t waste time contemplating the recklessness of the move, he smashed the skylight and aimed for the knees of the men in Garrett’s blind spot.

May knelt in the corner of the window, taking measured shots, clearing out the first wave of enemy before she jumped into the fray, tossing her gun at the nearest man’s forehead and unleashing a flurry of kicks and punches.

Phil steadily worked his aim around the periphery of the room, taking out as many as he could while Garrett exchanged fire with the rest, including Matteo who had taken up refuge behind a credenza.

When the room was a pile of broken and bleeding henchman, Matteo was the only opponent standing.  Phil pulled back, giving the final shot to Garrett who leveled his glock and pulled the trigger.

 

::click::

 

The ominous sound of an empty mag echoed through the room and Matteo began to laugh, loud and deep.

Phil raised his own gun, ready to take him out when Garrett dropped his pistol and pulled the boat’s flare gun from the waist of his pants.  He smirked, eyebrows bouncing once before he pulled the trigger, the bright orange flare streaking across the room and burying itself in the center of the chest of the intended target.

Matteo screamed, his face contorting in the strange orange glow of the flare.  Phil could see May pull back in horror, but Garrett laughed, looking back at her with a grin, “Didja see that?!”

He stepped over a body and delivered a kick to the still screaming Matteo, “Excuse me, Amico; I’ve got some information to deliver stateside.”

He smirked back to May, “Come on, this way; should be smooth sailing from here on out.”

Once they were out of view, Phil pushed himself from the skylight, Matteo’s screams and the stench of the flare’s burn still coming up through the skylight. 

He knew it was time to head to the dock but he paused, breathing, strengthening himself.  It wasn’t the first time he’d killed or seen others killed.  It wasn’t an easy thing to reckon with but he had come to terms with that aspect of the job.

But what he had just seen was something different; Garrett had _relished_ the gun fight and there was something akin to joy in his face as the flare had taken Matteo down, burning his clothes and skin.

Phil swallowed, feeling bile in the back of his throat. Thinking of the wide grin on his friend’s face and knowing the nausea had nothing to do with his injuries.


	7. Chapter 7

Garrett was right.  The hotel was great.  Their room was small but the mattress was soft and the shower was spacious.

Phil spent a long time under the spray, waiting for the water to stop running red and trying to clear out his nose.  The lack of adrenaline left him tired and feeling every throbbing ache and the hot water intensified the look of the bruise on his chest, but it also loosened all the tension from his muscles, granting a modicum of reprieve.

He stepped out of the shower and tied a towel around his waist before stepping back into the room.  Neither May nor Garrett were there.  Phil relaxed, assuming they both had gone to the hotel restaurant; Garrett had mentioned needing a drink.

Instead of bending to pick up his bloodied and dirty clothes, Phil sat on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes and just breathing.  It wasn’t long before he gave in to the desire to drop across the foot of the mattress.

He wasn’t sure how much time he had lost when the sound of the door opening jerked him awake.  He scrambled to ensure the towel was secured at his hip as he heard Melinda’s snort.

“Oh relax.” She reprimanded, dropping bags on the couch, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

She was right but he certainly wasn’t going to spend much time ruminating on _that_ memory in his current state of undress.  He grumbled, using his good arm to push himself up, intent on finding his pants.

Melinda tsk’d, “What are you doing? Stop.” She put a hand on his shoulder, pressing him back to the mattress, “Let’s take care of whatever you did to yourself before you start moving around.”

“I didn’t do anything to _myself_.” He groaned, focusing on the pain instead of the image of Melinda May above him, “It was three very big men and I was under orders to let them take me in.”

“Yeah,” May sighed, grabbing one of the bags and extracting some gauze and liniment. She pressed gently around the cut on his cheek, “I don’t think Fury expected them to be so violent…”

Phil shifted, averting his eyes.

Her hands stilled, “What?”  Waiting for him to return the eye contact her eyebrows rose, reading his silent admission, “Seriously?  You just _had_ to fight them?”

“I needed to make it look real.” He defended, “No one would just _let_ themselves get taken.  They would have suspected something.”

May snorted, “They could have killed you.”

“But they didn’t.” He tried smiling, wincing at the pressure it put on his nose.

May tilted her head, eyes narrowed.  She grimaced, as if contemplating something distasteful, “Sorry.”

Phil furrowed his brow, “For wha-?”

Before he finished the word May had placed her hands on either side of his nose and snapped the cartilage back in place.

“GAWHD!!!...” He howled, hands coming to his face, but instantly noticing the pressure had lessened and he could breathe through his nostrils again.

“For that.” May smirked, “Now stop being a baby, I know it has to feel better.”

He swallowed his complaint, closing his eyes as she proceeded to tape a soft splint to his face. 

When she was satisfied with her handiwork, her eyes drifted to what needed her attention next.  Her hand pressed lightly to the large, ugly bruise radiating out from his sternum, “Unfortunately there isn’t much to be done here.  I do have a topical analgesic I can rub on it…”

“No!” Phil pushed her hand away, catching himself and smirking to cover his momentary panic at the idea of her rubbing oil over his chest, “I mean, no, thank you, it’s fine. The shower helped.  I can do it myself later if it bothers me.”

She frowned at him but shook it away with a roll of her eyes, helping him sit up before her hands moved on to his shoulder. “Garrett did a good job reducing your dislocated shoulder but looks like your collarbone is busted too.”

“Yeah.” Phil nodded, “Figured that one out when John tried to use it for leverage while popping my arm back in.”

He was particularly grateful they had been on the boat at that point; even a few miles from shore he had been fairly certain the string of expletives he had released could have drawn unwanted attention.

May nodded, moving to the other bag she had brought with her and flinging some fabric at him, “He is still out getting something to help with the pain, but I picked you up a real sling.”

Phil frowned, catching the sling, “I don’t want pain meds.”

“Relax.” She dismissed, “Here, your clothes are filthy.”

She handed him a pair of sweatpants with a soccer team crest on one leg, and a bright orange t-shirt with loud cartoon print, “ _’Ciao, Bella’_ ” He read aloud, “You couldn’t find something less…neon?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, “But I can’t wait to see Fury’s reaction when you board the plane wearing it.”

He groaned, shaking his head but putting it on.  He looked down, “It’s also too big.”

May tsk’d, picking up the sling and helping him adjust his bad arm, “I wasn’t going to waste money on a shirt you’ll never wear again.  It can be a night shirt.”

“Yeah, sure. Or a car rag.” He muttered.

May huffed, stepping back, stripping off her own shirt.

“Hey!” He whipped his face away, “Maybe a warning?”

“It’s nothing _you_ haven’t seen before.” He could hear the eyeroll in her tone, “And relax, it’s not like I’m going to ask you to unhook my bra; we don’t have that kind of time.”

“Seriously? I’m not even going to bother having this argument with you _again._ ” He looked back as she pulled on another tourist t-shirt; a deep green with a subtle Italian flag.

“I see you get the nice one.” He groused.

She shrugged, “Next time don’t get yourself beat to hell and you can be the one who goes shopping.”

The lock on the door turned and she spun on her heel, arms raised only to relax them once Garrett stepped in.  “Don’t you two look cute.” He drawled, “Phil, seriously, man, orange is totally your color.”

Phil snorted, eyes narrowing, “Are you drunk?”

“No…” John retorted even as a large grin split his face, “Though I may have got a head start on the pain relief.”

“Did you save _any_ to share?” May crossed her arms. 

Garrett held up a bag, “They didn’t have any plastic cups so I just took three bottles. Everyone gets their own.”

Phil rolled his eyes, but smiled, after the anger Garrett had radiated on the boat, it was good to see him relaxed and acting normal.

“You all set in here?” Garrett remained by the door, “I scoped out up top and it’s all good.”

“Up top?” Phil frowned, looking at the matching expressions on May and Garrett’s faces.  Connecting the dots, he sighed, shoulders stooping, “Guys; it’s a civilian hotel; you can’t just go hang on the roof.”

“Yeah, we can.” John nodded, “That’s what I’m saying, coast is clear.”

Phil looked to May for a source of reason.  He should have known better.

“All the warning signs are Italian, I can’t read them.” She shrugged too innocently.

Phil scoffed, “I thought specialists were supposed to be multi-lingual.”

“他妈的你”

He blinked, her tone telling him enough that he didn’t need a translation. “Fair point.”

She smiled, “Come on, human punching bag.” She offered a hand to help him stand, “Let’s go.”

* * *

' _On the roof ‘s the only plaaaace I knooow…’_

Phil grinned into his limoncello as Garrett continued to butcher the classic song. 

His whole body still hurt, through considerably dulled after a healthy helping of the stiff alcoholic drink. Tomorrow all three would probably be nursing hangovers and but he had to admit, coming up here had been a good plan.

While their room only had a view of the parking lot, the roof offered a panorama of the entire vista, from the rising hills to the blue of the sea, the setting sun behind the masts dotting the harbor.

It was objectively beautiful.

He sighed, leaning against a vent and looking between his colleagues. Garrett was relaxed now but he had been unnerving earlier, between the carnage he seemed to enjoy and their conversation on the boat.  While Phil disagreed with most of what Garrett had to say against how SHIELD conducted business, he did have a point that maybe now Phil should take some time to evaluate what he really wanted his future with SHIELD to look like.

He definitely needed a more comprehensive career plan than,“Keep working with Melinda May.”  He watched as she balanced on the edge of the roof, moving back and forth with ease, arms outstretched, rolling her eyes at Garrett.  Phil swallowed; He really needed to figure out how to squash that latent attraction. 

But those were all issues for another time.

Tonight he would allow himself to be content, sitting on the roof with a delicious drink, watching the sunset while Garrett sang and Melinda grinned.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "May used to be different....pulling pranks..."   
> -Coulson ep 1x9 Repairs

Fury was waiting for as they trudged up the ramp and into the plane’s cargo hold.  

“What the _hell_ did you do to my rookie?”

Phil winced, the reprimand spiking through his concussed hangover. 

He could only imagine what Fury was thinking; when Phil had left a day ago he’d been in a freshly pressed suit and tac vest.  Today he was returning in mismatched sweatpants, a bright neon oversized t-shirt, a sling on one arm and a nose splint partially covering a very black eye.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, Sir.” He tried to assure, holding up a hand.

Fury snorted, “As glad as I am to hear that, I wasn’t asking about your face or your arm.” He stepped forward, “I was asking about _this._ ”

Much to Phil’s confusion and apparent amusement of Garrett and May, Fury raised a hand and flicked at Phil’s left earlobe.

A small pain accompanied the ‘snit’ of Fury’s finger impacting something hard.

Phil’s eyes widened in realization and he glared at his cohorts before moving to the car parked on the ramp, looking at himself in the sideview mirror.  A small gold hoop was attached to his ear.

“Seriously guys?!”

“Aww, c’mon Phil, it’s a good look for you.”  Garrett’s grin was splitting his face.

May was doing a poor job of containing outright laughter, “Think of the undercover roles this opens up for you; you could be a rock star.”

“Or a pirate!” John added.

May shoved at him, “Or a hippie.”

“Pirate Hippie.”

“A biker.”

“Pirate biker!”

“Enough!” Fury shut them down though his expression appeared more amused than angry.

Phil swallowed, “I’m sorry, Sir.  We may have had a little too much to drink last night. It’s just a prank.  I’ll take it out right away.”

“I don’t think so.” Fury shook his head, expression stiffly neutral, “Take it out now and it’s liable to get infected.  You’ll need to leave it in for, oh, probably 2 to 6 weeks…minimum.”

The corner of their boss’ mouth twitched and May gave up all pretext of contrition, her laughter echoing off the walls of the cargo hold.  Phil tried to glare at her but it wasn’t easy while she was laughing.

“Any other new holes I should know about?” Fury looked pointedly to the sling.

Phil shook his head, “No, Sir.  Almost, but no.  I’m fine.”

“Well, certainly well enough to be the butt of your partner’s jokes.” Fury redirected, “Head to the lounge and buckle in.  I’ll come to you for debrief once we’re in the air.”  He turned to May and Garrett, waving a finger in their faces, “No more.”

The both reigned in their grins at the soft reprimand, though they returned as soon as Fury had disappeared, up the staircase.

Phil shook his head, “Unbelievable.”

May and Garrett continued to grin, keeping Phil between them as they made their way to the mid-level of the plane.

“I’m going to get you for this.” Phil muttered, “Seriously, I’m going to shoot each of you.  You won’t see it coming; I’m going to shoot you and not even feel bad about it.”

“Worth it!” Garrett snickered.

May tapped his shoulder, “You’ll feel a little bad.”

Phil snorted, “Maybe a little bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just had to fit this little bit of fluffy head cannon in somewhere. :-)
> 
> This is the end of this story; next up is Madrid where Coulson has a mustache and lets May drive Lola....


End file.
